In sickness and in health
by mermaidNZ
Summary: It's still dark outside when the sound of Danny's ringtone jolts Steve awake. "Hey, Danny," he mumbles, but it's Grace's small, scared voice he hears. "Steve, Danno's sick!" - - Sequel to my AU 'Mamo's Books & Music', in which Steve's a wounded veteran running a bookstore and Danny's with HPD. - - established Steve/Danny - - no sexual content, but please read the warnings!
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings****:** discussion of physical injury, chronic pain, and vomiting. **Trigger warning** for PTSD combat flashbacks, and for a brief mention of suicidal ideation.

**Spoilers****:** none – it's an AU where the only character who works in law enforcement is Danny.

**Author's notes****:** I hadn't intended to write a sequel to _**Mamo's Books and Music**_, but a prompt over at ariadnes_string's 'Running Hot II' comment!fic fest on Livejournal just seemed to fit that 'verse perfectly. This is the expanded and revised version of my original comment!fic – it has not been beta-read, so please feel free to point out any errors.

Thanks so much to embroiderama, for inspiring me in the first place, and to all the lovely LJ commenters who encouraged me to keep going over many weeks.

This fic is set in June 2013, so Steve and Danny have been together for close to two years at this point.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

It's Friday night, and the last customer has just left Mamo's weighed down with purchases.

Danny and Grace are still here, occupying their usual spots over in the children's section. She's sprawled out on the carpet where Steve himself spent so much time as a kid, absorbed in a new YA novel that's set on the Big Island; he's in a comfy armchair nearby, leafing through a pictorial history of baseball Steve ordered in for him.

But the two of them hardly count as customers anymore, no matter how many books Grace convinces Danny to buy for her.

They know the drill off by heart, by now, so Steve doesn't need to apologize for keeping them waiting. He just smiles at them both and sits back down at his desk, stretching out his aching right leg as Chin brings over one of the register drawers for him to count out. After a decade of working together, firstly as Mamo's employees and then as co-owners following his death, Steve and Chin have the closing process streamlined.

Once his own drawer's done, Chin heads up to the mezzanine to put away a big stack of CDs and DVDs. He always tries to clear the decks on Fridays, as much as possible. Steve has trouble climbing the stairs, even on his good days; and his Saturday assistant, Leilani, will be too busy to get much shelving done.

Steve used to reserve his Friday nights for dinner and drinks with his colleagues, but now they go out together less often. Back when he was single and lonely, Steve hadn't realized just how much their traditional wind-down was about his friends keeping him company.

Tonight, Chin's helping his ten-year-old son Kai prepare for the statewide piano competition tomorrow. Kono is also getting an early night: she's directing a documentary about the local surfing scene, at the moment, and filming starts at dawn. Steve will be working tomorrow with Kamekona and Toast, anyway. So, once the store's secured for the night, he goes out to dinner with Danny and Grace instead.

Rachel and Stan are in Maui right now, for a few days' break after the signing of his latest hotel deal. As Danny only sees Grace on Wednesday and Saturday nights, usually, he's really looking forward to spending a whole weekend with her.

The three of them head to a new Thai place that just opened near Mamo's. Thanks to Steve's ongoing efforts to expand his palate, Danny is now willing to eat Thai, Japanese, and Vietnamese food; he still draws the line at Korean, though, due to a persistent fear of kimchi.

The restaurant is pretty busy, and the food seems decent; Steve orders tom yum soup, extra spicy since he won't be going home with Danny tonight, but Danny plays it safe with a chicken pad thai. Grace gets spring rolls, expertly using her chopsticks to dip them in sweet and sour sauce.

Between mouthfuls, she tells Danny and Steve about her first week of summer school. When Steve was young, summer school was mostly for kids who'd flunked classes during the year. But Grace's expensive private school offers a wide range of extension and enrichment programs over the summer vacation, and she'd actually begged Danny and Rachel to let her attend. So she's starting to learn basic Mandarin, and doing hands-on science projects like building a LEGO robot.

Danny drops Steve back at his house around 9pm, and gives him a loving but chaste kiss. Though Grace is used to them being together, and even seems quite happy about it, they still try not to expose her to too much intimacy. Steve mostly stays over at Danny's place, now, but he usually gives Danny and Grace their space on custody nights.

* * *

It's still dark when Danny's ringtone jolts Steve out of a dream of blood-stained snow; he revisits Afghanistan's mountains more often when he sleeps alone.

With most of his mind still somewhere in transit between hell and Hawaii, Steve rolls over and manages to grab his phone off the nightstand on his second attempt. "Hey, Danny," he mumbles.

But it's a small, scared voice he hears. "Steve, Danno's sick!"

Steve sits upright, now wide awake. "Gracie? What's wrong with him?"

"He's been in the bathroom for _hours_, barfing, but he didn't want me to call 911. And he said I couldn't wake you up until now."

Steve rubs at his eyes with his free hand, and glances over at the clock. It's 6am, less than an hour before he was due to start his day – even when sick, Danny is considerate. But in just under three hours, Steve has to open the store.

"Is he awake at the moment?" he asks.

"Yeah," Grace says. "He's lying on the bathroom floor, holding his stomach. Please, Steve, you _gotta_ come help him."

"All right, I'm on my way. See if you can get him to drink a glass of water, real slow. And tell him I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay," Grace says, and hangs up.

Steve calls a cab and then rolls out of bed, wincing as he reaches for his cane. His knee is always stiff, first thing, and moving around in a hurry like this makes it even worse.

He throws on yesterday's outfit, aware that some unpleasant clean-up might be required; he keeps a stash of spare clothes at Danny's, anyway. Steve leaves a note for his mom, who likes to sleep in on Saturdays, and limps out the door.

As Steve's been using this taxi company for years, the drivers know him well. This morning, it's Cara who pulls up.

"Howzit, Steve. Mamo's opening extra early today?" she asks, snapping her gum.

"No, I'm heading to Danny's," Steve tells her. "He's sick, so I need to stop by a grocery store first."

She nods, accelerating away from the curb. Cara's normally a chatterbox, but she seems to understand that he needs silence and speed right now.

Steve pulls out his phone and starts looking up medical websites. Danny probably just has food poisoning, or the stomach flu, or something else with no cure except time. Still, Steve needs to know what to do. He got extensive first-aid training in the Navy, of course, but that focused mostly on injuries.

Before Danny, Steve's only serious relationship was with Cath, in high school. He used to rub her lower back when she had cramps, sure. But he never had to look after her like this, nor any of his partners since then. And though Danny's gotten hurt on the job a couple of times since transferring to Hawaii, including a flare-up of his own knee trouble last year, he's been remarkably healthy otherwise.

Steve is used to being the one who needs help, and this role reversal feels strange. _God_, he hopes he's up to the job.

* * *

At the store, he picks up Pepto-Bismol, Gatorade, saltine crackers, applesauce, and ginger root tea. Steve never suffered seasickness, not even in the worst storms, but some of the guys he sailed with swore by ginger's anti-nausea properties.

Traffic is light, this early, so Cara gets him to Danny's apartment in record time – Steve gives her a big tip. Grace must have been watching for him, because she opens the front door immediately. She's barefoot, in her pink bathrobe, and looks like she hardly slept.

She launches herself at Steve, and he only just manages to avoid toppling over. It's testament to how anxious and tired she is; she always checks Steve is braced and ready before hugging him.

"I gave Danno the water, but he threw it up again." Grace's words are muffled against his chest.

Steve bends to kiss her forehead. "That's okay, sweetheart, you did the best you could. I brought some stuff that might make him feel better, okay?"

Grace nods, sniffling, and steps aside so Steve can head for the bathroom. "Hey, Danny," he says, knocking on the door.

"'s not pretty in here," comes the hoarse reply.

"I can guarantee I've seen worse," Steve says. He takes Danny's silence as permission, and opens the door.

The smell hits him immediately, but Steve wasn't lying: he's spent enough time in war zones and in hospitals to be pretty damn resilient. He switches on the extractor fan, opens the window, and then moves to Danny's side. At least the floor itself is clean.

Danny's lying in front of the toilet, curled up with his arms crossed over his belly. He's just wearing boxers; a stained T-shirt is crumpled on the floor by the shower stall.

"Yeah, you're definitely not at your prettiest," Steve tells him, reaching down to push a wayward lock of hair off his face. Danny feels hot and clammy, and he's trembling slightly.

Steve just gets a weak glare in return, and his own stomach clenches up. If Danny can't even muster any scathing words, something's _very_ wrong.

Grace is watching from the doorway. She looks understandably grossed-out by Danny's condition, but deeply worried too.

Steve gives her a smile he hopes is reassuring. "Hey, I forgot to check before: are you feeling sick, Gracie?"

"No, but I really gotta pee," she says plaintively.

With a wince, Danny sits up. Holding tight to the towel rack, as a counterbalance, Steve plants his cane in front of him so Danny can use it to haul himself up off the floor.

Grace darts away, coming back with Danny's bathrobe. "You're shivering," she tells him, draping it over his shoulders.

"Thanks, monkey," Danny says. He pulls it on, and staggers out of the bathroom. Steve gives the toilet a quick clean, grabs some washcloths from the cabinet, and then follows his partner.

* * *

Steve finds Danny at the kitchen table, heaving into a metal bowl.

"God, kill me now," Danny rasps, once he's done.

Hearing Danny say that sends a chill through Steve...because he'd thought that exact same thing, over and over, during his long painful journey from battlefield to hospital to rehab. Hell, there were times he would have killed himself, if only he'd had the means.

He doesn't know how to respond, now, but luckily Danny keeps talking. "There's nothing left, but I can't stop retching."

"Yeah, that's the worst stage," Steve says. He rinses the bowl out, then dampens a washcloth with warm water and wipes Danny's face clean.

Danny sighs deeply. "Thanks."

Steve pulls a Gatorade out of the CVS bag, and hands the bottle to him. "Just take small sips, okay? Even if most of it comes back up, it should start rehydrating you."

Sitting down beside Danny, Steve wraps an arm around him. "So when did you start feeling sick, huh?"

"Felt fine when I went to bed," Danny says. "Woke up at 2am, guts on fire; been vomiting ever since. Got the runs, too...it's fucking _awful_."

Steve shifts his hand so he can rub Danny's neck, which usually soothes him after a bad day. Danny makes a small sound, tipping his head onto Steve's shoulder.

"Does it hurt the same, all over your belly, or is it worse on the lower right-hand side?"

"Same," Danny croaks.

"Been around anyone who's had the stomach flu recently?" Steve asks.

"Don't think so, but you know how many people I deal with on the job."

Steve nods; working in retail exposes him to just about every bug that's going around, and being a cop can't be too far behind.

"Any other symptoms? Muscle aches, joint pain, chills, headache, sensitivity to light?"

"I feel hot and cold by turns," Danny reports, taking another sip of Gatorade. "There's some soreness – mostly from spending hours on the floor, I think. But I've got a bad headache."

Steve hums, and starts working on the pressure points at the base of Danny's skull.

"Feels good," Danny mumbles. "So what's the diagnosis, doctor?"

"Given how suddenly it started, my first guess would be food poisoning from the Thai place," Steve says.

"That's what I figured, yeah. I had it once before, as a rookie. Ma was nagging me to eat healthier, so I picked up a chicken salad sandwich for lunch and then got called out to a double homicide. By the time I finally ate, it had been sitting in my car for hours but I was too hungry to care. Regretted it pretty soon, though."

Steve gives an exaggerated shudder of disgust. That's the most Danny's managed to say so far today, though, which he takes as a positive sign.

"Still, it might be a more serious condition," Steve points out. "Appendicitis or meningitis, maybe, or some nasty virus."

"I know the symptoms of those two, for Gracie's sake, so we can both keep a look-out. But it's probably not viral; you stayed with me Thursday and she was here Wednesday, and neither of you are sick. Plus, I'm the only one who ate chicken last night."

"Chicken seems to be your nemesis," Steve says, and Danny huffs out a laugh that turns into a groan.

"Fuck, my throat hurts."

"If you can keep down the Gatorade, next stop is ginger tea with honey," Steve tells him. "That should be nice and soothing."

"You sure know how to incentivize a guy."

Steve kisses Danny's temple. "Well, I learned by example. You're the one who promises to blow me in the morning, if I manage to get back to sleep after a nightmare. I know tea doesn't compare to a blowjob, but it's the best I can offer."

"In the circumstances," Danny says, "I can't think of anything better."

Steve runs a clean washcloth under cold water, wrings it out, and presses it to Danny's forehead. He can remember his mom doing this, whenever he was feverish as a kid. The compress cooled his skin, but the gesture was always filled with loving warmth. He hopes it feels the same for Danny, now.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Danny slowly drinking Gatorade and Steve gently massaging the nape of his neck.

While she had the bathroom to herself, Grace apparently took the opportunity for a quick shower. Her timing is excellent; soon after she heads to her room to get dressed, Danny clutches at his belly and groans, "Oh, God, here we go again."

* * *

As Danny hurries back to the bathroom, Steve checks his watch: it's just past 7am, now. He has to leave in an hour, if he's going to open Mamo's on time. He and Chin usually cover for each other, in case of illness or emergency. But Steve can't pull Chin away from his son's big day.

Kono has been in charge of the store before, but only for a few hours here and there. Anyway, she's up at the North Shore right now. Even if she could get back from the shoot in time, Steve can't ask that of her. Filmmaking is her passion and her profession...working part-time at Mamo's just pays the bills.

Briefly, Steve wonders if he could ask Pat Jameson to come out of retirement, just for today; she used to manage the store whenever Mamo wasn't there. But they've upgraded all the computer systems since she left seven years ago, and Steve can imagine the chaos that might ensue.

Not opening at all has to be an absolute last resort, because Saturday is their most profitable day of the week. But Steve simply can't leave Grace alone to care for Danny. Smart and responsible though she is, she's only ten years old.

As Steve's making a mental shortlist of people he could ask to come over and help, Grace walks into the kitchen. She's dressed, clean, and seems a little more cheerful.

"Have you had breakfast?"

Grace shakes her head. "Danno was gonna make me choc-chip pancakes."

"Sorry, sweetheart, I think pancakes are off the menu today," Steve tells her. "Maybe tomorrow, if he's feeling better."

"Okay," she says, and fixes herself a bowl of cereal instead. Steve does likewise, and pours them each a glass of juice. His knee twinges sharply as he leans against the counter for support. Danny's kitchen isn't adapted for Steve's needs, unlike the one at his mom's house.

"You were very brave this morning," Steve tells Grace, as they sit down again. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to help."

"So why don't you live with Danno all the time?" she asks. "That way, you'd always be around if he got sick."

Steve opens his mouth, and closes it again. The thing is, he and Danny have increasingly talked about moving in together, seeing as they've been together for over a year and a half now. But they're not free agents: Grace's happiness is Danny's top priority, of course, and Steve has his mom's welfare to consider.

"Don't you like it, when it's just you and Danno here?"

"Sure," Grace says, "but I like hanging out with you, too. I think he's happier when you're around, anyway."

Steve smiles at her. "Thank you, Gracie; that's so nice to hear. And yeah, I would like to live with your dad. There's a lot we'd have to work out first, though, and it probably won't happen for a while. So I'm glad you're keeping an eye on him when I'm not here."

She frowns. "But what about today – do you have to go to work?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. But I can ask someone to help you watch over Danno. Or if you want a break, you could come with me instead."

Grace looks torn: she loves Mamo's, and can happily sit reading for hours. Then she shakes her head. "Danno always looks after me real good, when I'm sick. Now I'm big enough to help him, too."

"You're an awesome person, Grace Williams," Steve says, in all sincerity, and she beams at him.

* * *

Danny emerges from the bathroom, then, looking like death warmed over. Steve grimaces in sympathy, and passes him the Pepto-Bismol. He gets up to rinse the breakfast dishes and put away the food, in case the smells trigger another bout of nausea. Rejoining Danny and Grace at the table, he says, "Danny, listen: I can only stay for another hour. I'm sorry to have to go, but Chin can't fill in for me today."

"Yeah, I figured," Danny says. "Kai is doing that big piano thing, right?"

Steve nods, relieved that Danny understands.

"He's been practicing for _months_," Grace informs them, "so he should definitely get first prize."

"Trying real hard doesn't always mean you get to win, unfortunately," Danny says, and Steve's impressed he can still impart valuable life lessons when he's feverish.

That thought reminds Steve of an important step he forgot to take earlier. "Hey, do you have a thermometer?"

"Yeah; should be in the bathroom cabinet."

Steve turns to Grace. "Can you go find it, please?"

She takes off at a run, so keen to help Danny that it puts a lump in Steve's throat.

His own relationship with his father was nothing like this. Steve understands, now, that parenting while on active duty is _hard_. Some of his SEAL buddies used to talk with regret about missing so many milestones, and feeling disconnected from their kids.

But even when Dad was ashore, he never showed Steve anything like the unconditional affection that Danny lavishes on Grace. Dad loved his only child, sure, but he had expectations that Steve struggled to fulfill: that he should share his father's interest in all things military, that he should prefer football to reading, and that he should take advantage of all the female attention his letterman jacket attracted.

Something of this must show in his face, because Danny says, "Hey, what is it?"

"I'm just worried about you," Steve says. But Danny's been encouraging him to talk more about the past, so he adds, "And wishing my dad and I were ever as close as you two are."

Danny nods, and reaches across the table to lay his too-warm hand on Steve's.

Grace comes back, thermometer in hand, and hovers close by while Steve takes Danny's temperature. "101.8," he says.

"Not good, but not bad enough to need a doctor, either," Danny interprets. "I'm a parent; I know these things."

The medical websites classified that as a mild to moderate fever, Steve remembers, and suggested some ways to bring the number down. "Do you have any liquid Tylenol? It might be easier for your system to handle."

"Yup, I know where it is," Grace says.

"And can you grab the Tylenol tablets for me, please?" Steve asks.

His knee is already throbbing, and he has a long, busy day ahead. But Steve tries to avoid taking prescription painkillers on Saturdays; they fog up his brain, and he needs to stay sharp when Chin and Kono aren't on deck. Though Leilani is an experienced sales clerk who really knows her music, she can't make managerial decisions.

Grace darts away again, and Danny leans back in his chair. "You don't need to worry about me, babe. I'll probably be fine by the time you get home tonight."

"Probably, yeah," Steve says, "but I want to have someone come sit with you anyway."

When Danny looks like he's going to argue, Steve plays his trump card. "It's not fair to Gracie, to make her cope with this alone. And if you _do_ have something more serious than food poisoning, you need an adult here to pick up on the signs and get you to the hospital, ASAP."

"Yeah, okay," Danny sighs.

Grace returns with both forms of Tylenol. Danny takes his dose and says, "You're doing a great job of helping, monkey."

Steve swallows two tablets, and smiles in agreement. "So I'll call around, see who's free to come over: Mom, Meka or Amy, Cath...any other suggestions?"

"Billy's got a soccer game this morning," Danny says, "so Amy and Meka will be busy until at least noon. And I don't want anyone else on the force witnessing this."

Steve nods. Danny's formed a solid partnership with Meka, but doesn't have many other close friends at HPD. And Steve understands, maybe better than anyone, how hard it is to let people see you when you're weak and in pain.

"Otherwise, I think I'd prefer Cynthia," Danny goes on. "If I pass out in a puddle of vomit, Cath might sketch me and then use the picture for blackmail purposes."

Grace pulls a face, but Steve laughs – Danny and Cath have developed a sincere yet wonderfully snarky friendship. "Oh, I'm sure she'd check you were breathing okay, first."

* * *

So Steve calls his mom, pretty certain she'll be awake by now. She's been a teacher for most of her life; even during the summer vacation, she has trouble sleeping past 7am.

Sure enough, she picks up straight away. "Hey, I just saw your note. How's Danny?"

"Not great...it might be food poisoning, but we don't know for sure."

"What a shame, when he had this whole weekend with Grace to look forward to," Mom says. "Is it going to be safe for you to leave them today?"

"That's why I was calling, actually. Is there any chance you could come over and help Grace look after him, please?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Grace perk up at being designated Danny's chief caregiver. He winks at her.

"I did plan on running a few errands and doing some paperwork today," his mom says, "but none of it's too urgent. So yes, I can come over – just give me an hour or so."

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mom, you're the best."

"Hey, any excuse to hang out with my honorary granddaughter," she says, and Steve smiles. Mom and Grace liked each other the moment they met, and have only gotten closer with time.

Ending the call, Steve tells the others, "Mom should be here by the time I have to leave."

Grace bounces in her chair. "Oh, cool; I want to ask her something."

Steve glances at Danny, who shrugs a little. Maybe it's girl stuff that Grace doesn't feel able to discuss with them.

"She's looking forward to seeing you too, sweetheart," Steve says.

Grace nods, and heads to her room. Through the open doorway, Steve can see her booting up her pink laptop.

He gets up, too, dampening Danny's washcloth again and setting water on to boil for the ginger tea. Danny can always drink it cold, later, if his system can't handle it yet.

"I need to go shower," Steve says. "Do you feel up to joining me?"

"Nope, sorry. I think I'd be a liability instead of a stabilizing influence, today."

Steve has to be careful, using the shower here: unlike the en suite bathroom at his mom's house, there are no built-in modifications in Danny's rented apartment. They've tried to make it safer, though, with suction grab bars on the walls and non-slip mats on the floor.

Still, they normally shower together when Steve stays over, for protection as well as pleasure. But if Danny's unsteady on his feet, too, they could end up in a tangled painful heap.

"Okay, no problem," Steve says, handing him the wrung-out washcloth. "But feel free to barge into the bathroom, if you can't wait until I'm done. I promise to still love you, no matter what foulness your digestive tract produces."

With a grimace, Danny says, "You'd think a guy who was raised by an English teacher and runs a bookstore would be better at saying romantic stuff."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Steve dutifully recites, hand over his heart. "Thou art more lovely and more...flatulent."

"Oh, _Jesus_," Danny groans. But he's doubled over with laughter instead of pain, so Steve counts it as a win. He bends down to kiss Danny's cheek, and limps to the bedroom to grab some spare clothes.

Aware of the minutes ticking by, Steve showers as fast as he safely can. He skips shaving and hurriedly gets dressed, wincing as the waistband of his cargo pants slides over his knee.

It's been over a decade since he was wounded, but some days it hurts so bad that Steve could believe he never left Afghanistan. Some days, only the multicolored tattoo surrounding the scars can convince Steve that this ugly, ruined flesh is still his own, and under his control.

Even light contact can be too much to bear, so Danny tries to avoid touching his knee. But he loves to trace Steve's other big piece, a black ink tattoo that loops and swirls around the shrapnel scarring on his chest. That reverent and careful touch, with hands or mouth, can help Steve relax after a long and pain-filled day.

* * *

Danny didn't wind up bursting into the bathroom while Steve was showering, which seems like a positive development. But as Steve's pulling his shirt on, Danny knocks and then wanders in.

He still looks pretty awful, though at least he isn't quite so pallid now. Steve grabs his cane and turns to face Danny, who's leaning against the far wall. "Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Improving, I think – the Pepto-Bismol and Tylenol have stayed down so far." Danny clear his throat, then adds, "So Grace just asked me why we don't live together."

"Huh," Steve says. "She asked me that earlier, too."

"Yeah? What'd you tell her?"

Steve shrugs. "The truth: I'd like for it to happen, but that it's kind of complicated."

"I said pretty much the same thing." Danny grins. "Good thing we've got our stories straight, or she'd never quit bugging us."

"I guess it's natural for her to be curious," Steve says.

"We always encouraged Gracie to ask questions about what she's reading, and about the wider world. It's just a little weird to have her turn that laser focus on my private life."

"Hoist by your own petard, in other words."

Danny laughs, and then his expression turns serious. "I know you have to go soon, babe, but I really appreciate you coming over so early on a work day."

Steve crosses the room, and props his hip against the wall so he can take both Danny's hands in one of his.

"It was a no-brainer," he says quietly. "You do so much for me, Danny, and I don't thank you nearly enough. I'm sorry you're sick, but I'm glad I could help _you_ out for a change."

"You do help me, all the time, just by being around," Danny assures him. "And trust me, I'd let you know if I was feeling used or undervalued."

Steve has to smile at that, because yeah...Danny doesn't hesitate to express his opinions, except for when he's feeling critical of Rachel and Grace is in earshot.

He leans in to kiss Danny's forehead, wrapping his free arm around his waist. Danny sticks his hands in Steve's back pockets, and rests his head against Steve's chest. They stand like that for a minute, until Steve reluctantly says, "I need to call a cab."

"Yeah, okay," Danny says, and heads out to lie down on the sofa while Steve goes to find his phone.

Grace is curled up in a nearby armchair with her laptop, reading her summer school handout about basic electronics – building that LEGO robot seems to have sparked a real interest. Steve is already compiling a mental list of books and kitset projects he could order for her, if this continues.

It'll be a ten-minute wait for the cab, so Steve makes the ginger tea and leaves it to steep. He adds plenty of honey to soothe Danny's throat, as the taste is bitter even by Steve's standards.

A car pulls up outside, then, and Steve's pleased to see his mom beat the taxi here.

Grace runs across the room and gives her a big hug, which his mom returns with equal enthusiasm; Steve waits his turn, smiling.

"Hi, Cynthia," Danny says, lifting his head off the sofa pillow. "Was your hair that color last time I saw you, or am I hallucinating?"

She chuckles, touching her short burgundy hair. Mom always chooses brighter colors once school lets out.

"Fresh dye job," she tells him. "If it looks purple-red to you right now, then congratulations: your brain isn't irreparably cooked by the fever."

Danny grins. "Good to hear. And hey, thanks for coming over on such short notice."

"Of course," Mom says. "You're family."

The cab arrives a few minutes later, and Steve stops by the sofa to bid Danny goodbye. "Drink your tea, drink more Gatorade, get some rest, and don't get any sicker. Okay?"

"I thought I was the bossy one in this relationship," Danny retorts, but tilts his face up for a quick kiss.

Grace hugs Steve – more careful now that she was earlier – and says, "I hope you sell lots of books today."

"Selling books is my superpower, but don't tell anyone," he mock-whispers in reply, winking over her shoulder at his mom. Grace is still giggling as he closes the front door.

* * *

One of Steve's favorite drivers is waiting outside: Bill, a Vietnam vet with scars of his own. The two of them have developed an unspoken understanding, over the years. Steve just nods at him, slides the passenger seat right back, straightens his leg out, and closes his eyes. It's 8.10am, he has a long and demanding day ahead, and he's already tired and sore.

Saturday morning traffic usually isn't too bad, but today one rental car has rear-ended another on the H1. Two lobster-red guys in ugly aloha shirts are yelling at each other while their wives exchange insurance details. Steve grits his teeth, and thinks uncharitable thoughts about tourists.

Bill does his best, but Steve still gets to Mamo's ten minutes late. Kamekona appears at the top of the stairs, wiping floury hands on his apron. "Howzit, Steve?"

"Hey, brah. I'm okay, but Danny's sick today...ate some bad Thai food, maybe."

"Damn, that sucks. Should've stuck to deep-fried local grinds," Kamekona calls out, retreating into his kitchen. "Boiling oil's gonna kill just about any kind of bug."

Kamekona's love of Hawaiian-style fried food is profound, and he's damn good at making it too. On Memorial Day, he hosted a family luau and invited his work _'ohana_ too. Grace tried every dish on offer – even the chili shrimp, on a dare from Kai – and could barely move afterwards.

Unfortunately, Kamekona can't serve anything fried in the café; the kitchen's extractor fan is too weak, and the odors would permeate the whole store. A new ventilation system is on Steve and Chin's wish list, sure, but an elevator is their top priority.

Steve hurries through his pre-opening routine, and is relieved when Leilani arrives on time at 8.45. There's no way Steve can climb the stairs today, not with his knee this bad. So she gets everything ready upstairs and then gives Steve a hand on the main floor, checking that the displays look shipshape before the customers come in to mess it all up.

They open just a few minutes late, but luckily there's nobody waiting outside. Pretty soon, though, the store starts filling up.

There's the usual Saturday crowd: parents with their kids, people who can't get away from work during the week, and others who only come into Honolulu at the weekends. They get semi-regular visitors from the neighbor islands, too. Mamo's offers online shopping, with cheap statewide delivery, but some customers much prefer to browse in person.

Add to that the tourists, the casual customers, and all the people who frequent Kamekona's café, and it's no wonder Saturday is the store's busiest day by far.

Steve is always glad of the increased takings, and today he's also thankful to be distracted from worrying about Danny. But _God_, his knee hurts.

Though he says nothing about it, his colleagues know him too well. Steve doesn't normally snack before lunch, but Toast brings down a savory scone with his mid-morning coffee. Steve devours it gratefully and then swallows two Advil as a chaser, since the Tylenol alone isn't enough today.

And Leilani, bless her, does her utmost to be everywhere at once. She handles all the enquiries about music and DVDs, as well as leading customers to the shelves if their book question is a simple one. Steve takes over if anyone needs more help, though, making recommendations and placing orders for out of stock items.

Steve always eats lunch at his desk on Saturdays, because there's nobody to cover for him if he goes out for a break. It's just a sandwich – no chicken, as per Steve's request to Kamekona – but it takes him over an hour to eat because of the many interruptions.

After all these years, though, Steve has perfected the art of smiling and looking attentive while chewing.

* * *

There's a lull after the lunch rush, so Steve calls his mom.

"Danny's doing better," she tells him. "He hasn't vomited or had diarrhea since you left."

"That's great news," Steve says, leaning back in his chair. "Is he being a co-operative patient?"

"Pretty good; I think he's just too tired to be difficult. I told him to go lie down, so he's been asleep for a couple of hours now."

"Are you checking on him regularly?"

"Don't teach your mother to suck eggs, kiddo – I nursed you through far worse than this," she says dryly, and Steve bites his lip.

"Sorry. I'm just worried about him, that's all."

Her voice softens. "I know, honey, but I really think we're out of the woods now. I'll call if his condition deteriorates, I promise."

"Thanks, Mom," he says.

Steve ends the call, and turns around to see one of his regulars waiting patiently. He musters up a smile and says, "Sorry about that, Dr. Suzuki."

"No problem," she says. "I couldn't help overhearing, Steve – is everything okay at home?"

Though he normally doesn't discuss his private life with customers, Steve's known the UH professor for years. "My partner isn't feeling too good," he tells her.

"I mostly teach medicine these days, instead of practicing," Dr. Suzuki says. "But I could still offer an unofficial opinion, if you'd like?"

Steve glances around, but sees nobody else seeking his assistance. So he gives her a grateful smile, and describes Danny's condition.

After listening carefully and asking a few questions, she says, "Yeah, I'd say food poisoning seems the most likely explanation. He started feeling nauseous about 12 hours ago, right? If it was something more serious, other symptoms should probably have manifested by now."

"That's good to hear, thanks," Steve says.

"Which restaurant were you at, by the way?"

He tells her, and she nods. "I might give the County Health Department a call. Food poisoning counts as a reportable disease, so the department may already know of other people becoming ill after eating there. But without your partner having samples taken and tested, he won't be counted in the official figures."

Steve shakes his head. "Danny's pretty stubborn about seeing a doctor. If he suffers a relapse, though, I'll put him in a taxi and take him to Urgent Care myself."

"If he's gone a few hours without incident, then he probably won't need medical attention. But he could be weak and listless for quite a few days yet. He'll need lots of fluid, plenty of rest, and small quantities of bland food only."

"Thank you, Dr. Suzuki," Steve says, and she chuckles.

"Steve, you know my taste in books better than my husband does, and now I'm intimately familiar with your partner's digestive tract. I think you can call me Youko, after this."

He grins at her and says, "Okay, Youko. So how may I help you today?"

Once he's sold her a picture book about butterflies for her great-niece's birthday – and discounted it by 25% 'for services rendered' – Steve is kept busy by a steady stream of customers.

Chin calls, mid-afternoon, to say Kai won third prize at the piano competition. Steve offers heartfelt congratulations, and tells Chin that all is well at this end; he doesn't want to burst Chin's jubilant mood by mentioning Danny's illness or his own pain.

Steve sends Leilani upstairs to spread the news. He hears Kamekona and Toast high-five each other, referring to Kai as an "_Akamai keiki_"* and a "Wicked talented little dude" respectively. Steve smiles to himself. Chin may have been ostracized by most of his family, besides Kono, but at least he has another _'ohana_ here who all love his son.

Toast brings Steve another coffee before him and Kamekona leave at 4pm; that energy boost, plus another couple of Tylenol, keeps Steve going until closing time.

* * *

**Note:** _Akamai keiki_ = 'smart kid' in Hawaiian.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

* * *

Leilani shuts the doors behind the last customer, at 6.03pm, and Steve can't help sighing with relief.

"We need another pair of hands, boss," she says, passing him both the register drawers. "Days like this are too hard on you."

Steve gives her a quick smile. "I can cope, for now. But you were great today; I really appreciate it."

She nods, and picks up a pile of DVDs to be re-shelved. Steve immerses himself in the counting process, focusing on the feel of cash in his hands and the tally of numbers in his head.

Leilani comes back downstairs and asks, "Hey, you need a ride tonight? I don't have to be at the concert hall until 7.30, so I've got some time."

"That'd be awesome, thanks," Steve says, so she waits while he puts the takings in the safe. It was a good day, in purely financial terms.

They chat easily in the car, mostly about music. Leilani is a cellist, and has already earned first chair in UH's orchestra despite only being a junior. Steve, Danny, Mom, and Chin attended her end-of-year recital last month, when she made her debut as soloist.

She played brilliantly, but Steve found it difficult to endure. Elgar wrote his cello concerto just after World War I, and poured his horror and despair into it. And Leilani's favorite uncle was killed in Iraq, so she imbued the music with her own lingering grief.

Though Steve had listened to the work before, on CD, hearing it performed live hit him _hard_. The haunting sounds evoked matching visuals in his mind, a slideshow of the death and devastation he'd seen – and caused – in Afghanistan and elsewhere. Even with his eyes open, it didn't stop.

He did his best to hide it, but Danny somehow knew: he leaned in close and gave Steve his hand, letting him squeeze it tightly as their breathing slowly synced up. They only let go at the end, when Steve applauded mostly out of relief. Afterwards, though, he congratulated Leilani on a moving performance and meant every word.

Tonight, Leilani is heading to a Honolulu Philharmonic concert – she and some other music students get in for free, if they serve as ushers beforehand. It's an all-Beethoven program, including the 'Emperor' piano concerto which is Steve's favorite, and he'd been seriously tempted to break his long-standing boycott of the orchestra. Now he's glad he decided not to go, because Danny needs him.

Steve quit attending HPO concerts back in 2003, after the board fired Chin on suspicion of embezzling half its endowment fund. But an elderly, terminally ill violinist who'd spent his entire career with the orchestra came forward, a few months ago, and confessed to stealing the money. He'd framed Chin out of jealousy, he admitted, after Chin got chosen as concertmaster over him despite being much younger. The thief was arrested and charged, but succumbed to cancer before being sentenced.

Following that revelation, the HPO offered to let Chin audition again, and many of Chin's relatives apologized for believing the worst of him for so long. But Chin hasn't played in years – he'd been forced to sell all his beloved violins after the scandal – and he's found a decade of alienation hard to forgive.

So Chin has stayed on at Mamo's, and stuck with the people who never doubted him...but Steve's noticed that his posture seems less tense now, and that he's quicker to smile. And the orchestra's conductor has _strongly encouraged_ its members to resume their patronage of the store; guilt money or not, it's been a very welcome boost to takings.

If this keeps up, it's possible Chin and Steve could offer their latest Sunday part-timer some extra work. Natalie is a UH English major with some provocative opinions about literature, and Steve's enjoyed every conversation they've had so far. She'd be a big help to him on Saturdays, if only for a few hours in the middle of the day.

* * *

Leilani pulls up outside Danny's place, and Steve insists on chipping in gas money –driving her disabled boss around definitely wasn't in the job description. Inside, he finds Grace at the kitchen table and his mom at the stove.

Mom sketches a salute with her wooden spoon; Grace looks up with a big smile and says, "Hi, Steve," before refocusing her attention on the carrot she's slicing with remarkable precision.

"Hey, folks," he says, toeing off his shoes. "SitRep?"

"All personnel present and accounted for," Mom says. "Our patient is currently napping, and seems much improved since my last report."

Steve grins as he crosses the kitchen. "I thought you would've left already. Isn't it poker night?"

Mom frowns when she sees how badly he's limping; she doesn't comment on it, but rubs his back soothingly as they hug.

"I called Pat and said I'd be late. We don't start playing until after dinner, anyway."

"Well, thanks for sticking around," he says. "I really didn't feel up to cooking tonight."

Also, not having to wait for take-out means Steve can pop more Advil sooner rather than later.

"Danny kept down some applesauce and crackers, earlier," Mom says, "so I thought he might be able to handle rice with plain veggies. I'll stir-fry some beef for us, too."

"Sounds perfect." Steve pours himself some water, and sits beside Grace. "How was your day, sweetheart?"

"Good. Danno's mostly been sleeping, so he wasn't very hard to look after."

Steve nods. "Hey, I've got great news for you: Kai came third."

But Grace just grins and says, "I know. He emailed me during the prize giving."

Steve must be getting old, because he still can't quite grasp ten-year-olds having smartphones. He glances at his mom, who's apparently thinking along the same lines; she gives him a wry smile.

Grace gets up and carefully tips the vegetables into the steamer. Then she grabs her phone, to show Steve a slightly blurry picture of Kai's silver trophy.

"Very cool," he says.

"Dinner will be ready in ten," Mom tells him. "Go wash up, and see if you can drag Danny out of bed to join us."

* * *

When he enters the dimly-lit bedroom he finds Danny curled up on his side, facing the door. Steve thinks of leaving him to sleep, but then Danny opens his eyes.

"Hey, bookman," he mumbles.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Steve pushes back Danny's tousled hair and leans down to kiss his forehead – not nearly so feverish now, thank God. "Hey. How do you feel?"

"A lot better."

Steve winces as he straightens up again, and Danny's eyes narrow. "How are _you_ doing? Out of ten?"

Danny's adopted Chin's pain rating system, and is just as insistent on honest answers.

So Steve reluctantly admits, "Eight; maybe even nine, now."

"Jesus, babe," Danny says, sitting up in bed to pull him close.

Steve sighs, and rests his cheek on Danny's hair. God, he needed this. Having Danny to come home to is one of the few things that makes the bad days bearable.

"You _can't_ keep working Saturdays with just one assistant," Danny says, his words muffled a little against Steve's shirt. "Nine hours without a break, and without the heavy-duty pain pills to get you through...even on the best days, you're worn out. And the days when you wind up a total wreck are happening more and more."

Steve had fobbed Leilani off, earlier, but he won't lie to Danny. "Yeah, I know. It's getting worse."

"Do you need to go back to the specialist, get everything checked out?"

"I think it's mostly that the store's getting busier, more than my knee deteriorating," Steve says.

He probably is overdue for an orthopedic assessment up at Tripler, though; artificial knees don't last forever, especially when they get as much use as Steve's does. But Steve's not sure he could face the prospect of yet more surgery and months of agonizing rehab after that – and that's leaving aside the impact of his absence on Mamo's. Even worse would be hearing that nothing could be done to fix his knee, and that he had to use crutches or a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Danny must feel the way Steve has tensed up at these thoughts, breathing faster, because he strokes Steve's back.

"Hey, hey, it's okay; we can talk about this later."

"Yeah, sorry," Steve says, exhaling hard. "Uh, I was supposed to check if you wanted to eat with us – it's steamed vegetables and rice."

There's a pause, and then Danny huffs out a laugh. "Sadly, that sounds really good right now. If this nausea doesn't clear up, I won't be able to face anything tastier than that for days. But at least I might end up shedding some pounds."

Steve shifts one hand to the slight curve of Danny's belly, and rubs gently. Despite his sweet tooth and fondness for fast food, Danny works out and keeps himself in pretty good shape. Steve would love him either way, fatter or thinner, but doesn't say so – his nerves feel a little too raw, just now. He hopes the gesture will speak for him, and the way Danny hums against Steve's shoulder suggests that it does.

"I should shower before dinner," Danny says, pulling back. "I feel gross, and probably smell even worse. These sheets will need changing, too."

"I can do that," Steve offers, but Danny shakes his head.

"Go sit down, take the weight off your knee; I can manage. Have you taken one of your pills?"

"Can't," Steve says simply. "If you get worse tonight, I need to be firing on all cylinders so I can help you."

Danny stares at him. "I can't tell if that's stupidly romantic or just stupid."

"I'm used to pain," Steve argues, "but I'm not used to looking after people. I don't want to let you down, Danny. I'll just take another dose of Advil with dinner."

"I'll make you a deal," Danny counters. "If I'm feeling about the same or better by the time we go to bed, then you take a prescription painkiller. They don't knock you out flat, not like your sleeping pills, and I trust you to take care of me even if you're groggy. Okay?"

Steve sighs – it goes against his instincts, but he really could do with the pain relief. "Yeah, okay."

Danny makes a shooing motion. "Go have dinner, and tell Cynthia I'll be there soon."

* * *

At the table, Steve just focuses on eating enough to cushion the Advil's impact on his stomach. His mom must have mentioned that Steve wasn't feeling too good; Grace is practically bouncing in her chair, for some reason, but she doesn't pepper him with questions like usual. Instead, she and Mom talk to each other, mostly about books Grace has read or wants to read.

When there's a lull in the conversation, though, Steve turns to Grace.

"Hey, Mrs. Keawe came in this afternoon, and wanted to thank you for suggesting _Ballet Shoes_ to her granddaughter Emily. Apparently she couldn't put it down...she even wanted to read at breakfast."

"Oh, cool – I thought she'd like it," Grace says. "Her mom's making her take dance classes, but Emily told me she really wants to be a mechanic when she grows up, like her uncle Mike. And I remembered that Petrova Fossil works on cars and stuff, in that book."

Steve can't help smiling at that; Oahu really is such a small place. Michael Keawe had been his first male crush, way back in middle school. And now the daughter of Steve's male partner is advising Michael's niece on her reading choices.

Danny comes out to join them, then, freshly-showered and clean-shaven. He takes the empty chair to Steve's left, so they can sit with their legs pressed together from knee to ankle.

Mom dishes Danny up a small helping. "This is as bland as I could make it – but just pace yourself, okay?"

"Thanks, Cynthia." Danny cuts his vegetables up small, while Mom goes back to telling Grace about other great kids' books set before World War II.

Steve looks around at the three of them, all so dear to him in different ways. Sadly, they don't often get to sit down for a family meal like this: Danny works long hours, Mom has school commitments and a busy social life, and Grace is only around two nights per week.

Rachel and Danny's relationship has thawed considerably, though, so there's now more flexibility in the custody arrangements. Steve's birthday had fallen on a Monday, this year, but Grace had been allowed to come out to dinner with him, Danny, and Mom. They'd gone to Steve's favorite Japanese restaurant, where the large aquarium along one wall had kept Grace transfixed – once she'd been assured that none of its inhabitants would end up on her plate, at least.

The Advil must be taking effect, or maybe it's just being able to sit still without interruption. Either way, Steve's better able to follow the conversation after a while, and hearing Grace's enthusiasm for classic books sparks an idea.

"Hey, Gracie," he says, "how would you feel about writing reviews of some classic chapter books, for me to put up in the kids' section?"

"Like a book report?" Grace asks.

Steve nods. "Just a paragraph or two on each of your favorites, maybe. A lot of kids don't go for old-fashioned stuff the way you do, but they might be interested if someone their age recommended it."

Danny's been much quieter than normal, eating slowly and methodically, but he speaks up now. "Sounds like a good summer project. You've always liked doing book reports."

Grace looks thoughtful. "I have to keep a reading log for summer school. But I'd be reviewing books for Mamo's that I've read before, so they wouldn't count." She tilts her head at Steve. "Will you pay me?"

There's a spluttering noise, as Danny tries not to laugh with his mouth full of Gatorade. "You definitely got your mom's business sense, monkey," he eventually manages, but he sounds proud rather than disapproving of her initiative.

Steve thinks of how his mother bribed him with books when he was little, so he'd sit quietly while she browsed at Mamo's. From the look on her face, Mom's thinking of that too.

So he says to Grace, "You've got eight weeks left of vacation, right? How about this: if you write two short reviews per week, I'll buy you one book in exchange. Maximum sticker price of ten dollars," he hastily adds, because Steve _loves_ giving her books but he's not made of money.

Grace beams at him. "Okay."

She puts out her hand, and Steve shakes it. Danny pulls out his phone, and snaps a picture to commemorate the deal.

"So did you have any funny customers?" Grace asks, just like she usually does.

Steve mostly remembers the pain from today, not the people; he can't tell Grace that, though. She understands that his leg hurts him, but not the true extent of it.

"Well, I got a 'blue book' request," he says.

His mom grins, familiar with these stories. "What unhelpfully vague thing did the customer remember, this time?"

Steve imitates the cadences of the surfer guy who'd approached him, late afternoon. "The book was, like, this big, brah...and the cover was red, and there was a black tree on the front."

"That's more to go on than some of my crime scene eyewitnesses ever manage," Danny says.

"I've definitely dealt with worse, yeah," Steve says, because some customers literally only remember the color of a book they'd seen. "The guy recalled seeing the book in the front window, but I was able to find a copy on the shelf. He looked so impressed, like I'd pulled a rabbit out of a hat."

That's one of the advantages of ordering and shelving all the books himself; Steve actually does know what book was displayed where, and often can recall what the cover looked like. He'd been trained in reconnaissance and praised by his instructors for his accurate and detailed memory, but never expected to use those skills like this.

* * *

The conversation continues, mostly light and fun, until they're done eating. Steve's pain is back down to a seven or so, now, and Danny's looking a little healthier than he did earlier.

"Hey, Gracie," Danny says, putting down his fork, "you seem pretty hyper for someone who got woken up way too early. Has Cynthia been feeding you candy all day?"

Grace shakes her head. "I'm just excited – because guess what? I figured out a way that you and Steve could live together, and everybody would be happy!"

Steve and Danny look at each other and then back at Grace, stunned, while Mom tells her, "I thought we agreed to save that surprise until your dad was feeling better, sweetheart."

"Sorry," Grace says, "but I just couldn't wait any longer."

Danny blinks at her. "Well, now I'm curious. How about you, Steve?"

Steve glances at his mother, who gives him a small apologetic shrug. Then he leans back and says, "Yeah, me too. Okay, Gracie, let's hear it."

Bouncing in her chair, Grace says in a rush, "Danno, you should move into Steve's house, and Cynthia should move in here. It's like you'd be swapping places, see?"

Danny and Steve both look from Grace at Mom, who lifts one hand to forestall their questions.

"It's not a crazy idea, or not from my perspective anyway," she says. "My arthritis is steadily worsening, and it's getting harder to manage the stairs. I've been thinking for a while that I'll need to move. And this apartment is exactly the kind of place I'd be looking for: a decent size, flat access, parking right outside, and much closer to school and to downtown than our house."

"But that's your _home_, Mom," Steve protests. "I could move out, and let you take over the downstairs."

She shakes her head. "The house was modified for your needs; it's where you can be as safe and comfortable as possible, so you should stay. I love the place, don't get me wrong, but I've been living there for almost 40 years now and it's time for a change. And while it's far too big for just one person, it'd do very nicely for two and a half people."

"I'm not a half person," Grace says indignantly.

"You're with your dad less than half the time, I meant," Mom says, which seems to mollify her.

Danny is looking thoughtful, but he hasn't said anything yet. Steve stays quiet, too...this really has to be Danny's choice, because it's not _Steve's_ life that would be turned upside down.

But God, Steve _wants_ it. He wants to sleep beside Danny, every night; he wants to spend more time with Grace, too. He wants to fix them dinner in his specially-adapted kitchen. He wants to shower with Danny purely for enjoyment's sake, instead of for his safety.

Steve's never lived with a partner before, but he loves Danny so much more than he ever loved anyone else – even Cath – and he thinks Danny is the one to take that chance with. And while it's not the only commitment he can picture himself making to Danny, it'd be a pretty good start.

Grace breaks the silence. "So what do you think of my idea?"

"I think it was clever of you to think of it, monkey, but Steve and I will need to talk it over," Danny tells her. "In the meantime, can you clear the table please?"

Once Grace is rinsing the plates, Mom leans across the table and says in a low voice, "I really am sorry about her springing it on you like that. But I did think of another point in favor of this scenario: the extra space at the house could be useful if the girls go ahead with their project."

She's being deliberately vague in case Grace overhears, but Steve and Danny both nod in understanding.

The 'girls' are Cath and her partner Laura, and the 'project' is Steve being their sperm donor. It's something the three of them have talked about for quite a while, and the current plan is to start trying early next year.

The idea is that Steve will be an acknowledged part of the baby's life, with regular visitation. Danny's given his blessing; Grace is pretty likely to approve as well, seeing as how she adores her honorary aunties, but they won't tell her until Cath's safely into her second trimester.

"If you two want to talk now," Mom continues, "I can stick around a while longer and keep Grace occupied."

"That'd be good, yeah," Danny says, so Steve follows him into his bedroom and closes the door behind them.

* * *

Once they're both sitting on his bed, Danny says, "So: thoughts?"

Steve looks down at his hands, twisted together in his lap. "It sounds great to me," he says quietly. "But it's a plan that gives me pretty much everything I want, without requiring any major sacrifice on my part. So your opinion's got to carry more weight, here."

Danny reaches out to wrap his fingers around Steve's wrists, stilling his fidgeting. But it seems like forever until he says, "Yeah, I do feel that it could work. You know I haven't wanted to rush into anything; I did that with Rachel, and look how our marriage turned out. But you and me...we spend most nights together already, and I still miss you when you're not around. So I think we've got something real solid, here."

"I think so, too," Steve says. He finally glances up to see Danny watching him, eyes so blue in his too-pale face.

"And Gracie was my other big concern, of course. But obviously we've got her approval, and Cynthia's too. Hell, it's a cross-generational cohabitation conspiracy," Danny adds with a wry grin, and Steve laughs.

"I don't know how the legal and financial side of things would pan out, though," he points out. "I pay half the bills, but the house is in Mom's name. And maybe the rent here would get hiked way up if you moved out, seeing as you got that cheaper rate because your landlord owed Stan a favor."

Danny shakes his head. "Oh, I bet Rachel could talk him into continuing the discount. You know how well she and Cynthia get on."

It's true; they'd initially bonded over their shared love of choral music, and have become good friends since then. Mom even babysits Grace, occasionally, when Rachel and Stan need someone at short notice and Danny and Steve are both busy.

"So...it'd be worth at least looking into the practicalities of this, once you're better?" Steve asks.

"Yeah," Danny says, the word half-swallowed by a yawn. "Don't think I should make any major life choices when I'm feeling this wrung out."

Steve nods. "You want to just go to sleep now? I can hang out with Grace until it's her bedtime."

"Nah, I can manage to stay awake for another couple of hours," Danny says. "And anyway, that talent show starts soon and I don't want to miss watching it with Gracie."

"It is her favorite," Steve deadpans, because she isn't the only one who gets hilariously over-invested in both the singing and the judging. Steve himself enjoys watching Danny and Grace's reactions way more than the actual show. "So when she asks about our decision, which you know she will as soon as we walk through that door, what are you going to tell her?"

"I think I'll say 'it's a distinct possibility', followed by a brief talk combining 'points for innovative thinking' with 'adult lives are a lot more complicated than you realize'."

"Sounds good," Steve says. He really does admire how Danny handles Grace, whose intelligence, curiosity, and frankness sometimes outstrip her emotional maturity.

If Cath's pregnancy is successful, she and Laura will be doing almost all of the parenting. Steve has no intention of overstepping his bounds...still, he hopes he can be as good a father figure to their child as Danny is to his daughter.

"First things first, though," Danny adds, reaching out to cup the back of Steve's neck. Steve leans in towards him, and they kiss slowly and softly for a while – their first real intimacy of this long, exhausting day.

The two of them have tried just about everything in bed; and despite the frustrating limitations imposed by his injuries, Steve is more sexually satisfied now than he's ever been. But he still _loves_ this kind of kissing, done purely as a show of affection instead of as a starting point for sex.

Danny eventually pulls back, lowering his hand to gently squeeze Steve's good knee. Steve runs his thumb across Danny's bottom lip before laying his own hand over Danny's.

He gives Danny a tired but genuine smile and says, "Let's go face the music."

* * *

**End.**


End file.
